


Philosophy of Physicality 121

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [27]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:25:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod and Caranthir discuss philosophy. Ish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philosophy of Physicality 121

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snartha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snartha/gifts).



Caranthir rummaged in his backpack, sifting through piles of papers, searching for his course book. “Ah, it was in here...I swear…Okay, yeah.” He pulled the battered packet out and flipped to a dog-eared page as he walked. “I gotta drop Phil 139 because it overlaps with my econ seminar. But you said 141 was similar?” 

“There a lot of overlap, yes, but it’s also the better class,” said Finrod, turning down a long hallway of the second floor of the philosophy building. “Especially if Olórin is teaching it next semester – He’s a little eccentric, but no one will get you to understand anarcho-primitivism better.” 

“Cool, and it fits in my schedule.” Caranthir was still poring over the course listing, and he would have walked into a wall had not Finrod put out a hand to steer him around the corner. “What’s the syllabus like?”

“That’s what I can dig up in my office,” said Finrod. He kept a light hand on Caranthir’s back as he navigated them around the file cabinets cluttering the hallway. “I’m sure I have a copy from when I TA’ed last semester and you can see what the reading and assignment list looks like.” He stopped them in front of a door at the very end of the hallway and pulled out his keys to unlock it. 

He opened the door and Caranthir peered around him. His brows drew together. “This is your  _office_?” 

“Charming, isn’t it?’ Finrod stepped over a pile of papers. 

“It’s a  _closet_.” 

“Simply palatial,” said Finrod, blithely.  “There are three of us who share it.” 

“ _How_?” Caranthir looked around, at the file cabinets towering over a single, tiny desk, piled high with more papers. Floor to ceiling bookshelves, groaning with heavy books – and a couple anemic plants – took up most of the room. 

“We have a rotation.” Finrod folded his arms and looked around, unfazed. “It’s mine Monday mornings, Thursday afternoons, and all day Friday. I got a pretty good deal, actually.” 

“Remind me not to go into academia.”

“Don’t go into academia.” 

“Yeah. No fear.”

“But let’s see, you wanted the Phil 141 syllabus…” Finrod opened the file drawer and flipped through it swiftly. “…here it is.” He handed the sheet of paper to Caranthir who examined it before waving it in front of Finrod. 

“It okay if I take this with me?”

“No problem.” Finrod slid the drawer closed and leaned his hip against the file cabinet, watching Caranthir. “Do you have class now?” 

“No, not ‘til this evening,” said Caranthir, shoving the paper into his already stuffed backpack. 

“What were you planning on doing in the meantime?”

“Uh, I dunno. I was probably going to go to the campus center and get some coffee or something. Why?” 

Finrod looked up at him, a glint in his eye. “How wedded are you to that plan?”

“Wedded? Not very, what – ” 

Finrod reached out, hooking his fingers in Caranthir’s belt loops. 

“ _Oh_.” 

Finrod smiled, pulling him in until Caranthir had to bring his hands out to brace against the file cabinet by Finrod’s shoulders, one of his thighs wedged between Finrod’s legs. 

“Don’t you…What about your office mates?” 

“It’s Friday,” said Finrod softly, his fingers playing lightly with the hem of Caranthir’s shirt, teasing at the strip of skin he exposed as he slid Caranthir’s shirt up. “It’s all mine.” 

Caranthir cleared his throat as Finrod’s fingers dipped below his waistband, a light touch but enough to make him hot all over. “And what if…if your advisor comes looking for you or something?” 

“Then we’d better hope,” Finrod leaned in and brushed parted lips against Caranthir’s neck, “that he knocks first, hm?” 

Caranthir swallowed hard as Finrod started undoing his belt. “He’ll still walk  _in_  though.” 

“Mmm,” murmured Finrod, and traced a hot line along Caranthir’s jaw with his tongue. “We can just say I’m tutoring you.” 

“On what, anarcho – anarch – whatever the fuck…you were…earlier…” Caranthir was rapidly losing his thread. Finrod had slid a hand down the front of his jeans and it was becoming very difficult to focus. 

“Anarcho-primitivism?” Finrod smiled, even as he widened his stance to pull Caranthir in between his legs, both of them braced against the cabinet. “Well, it is fascinating. If you start with Thoreau’s writings,” he closed his lips around Caranthir’s earlobe and bit down lightly, “and move on to Zisly and Gravelle…” 

“Oh god,” gasped Caranthir, trying to grab the cabinet for support. 

“ _Le Sauvage_ ,” murmured Finrod, directly into Caranthir’s ear, and Caranthir shuddered right down to his feet, “is a particular favorite of mine.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“One of Zisly and Gravelle’s collaborations.” Caranthir’s head dropped back and Finrod kissed his throat. “A very productive partnership, those two…a real give and take…” 

Even when his head was swimming with pleasure – in the bolt of lightning, sudden, ferocious arousal way that Finrod was so good at conjuring – and a decent amount of concern that they’d be walked in on by a senior faculty member at any time, Caranthir could pick up on a hint. And so he fumbled with the fly of Finrod’s jeans, ducking his head to sink his teeth into the meat of Finrod’s shoulder as he did so. Finrod moaned – “Yeah, you like that, huh?” whispered Caranthir – and pressed his hips up for Caranthir’s hand.

 

-

 

The yellowing fern on the shelf next to them wobbled precariously as Caranthir took Finrod by the shoulders and flipped him around, pressing him up against the cabinet, his hands tight around Finrod’s wrists. He nuzzled into Finrod’s hair, his breath hot on Finrod’s neck, and Finrod ground back against him. 

“You can’t hold my arms and touch me at the same time.” 

“Maybe I wasn’t planning on touching you.” 

Finrod groaned. “You wouldn’t torture me like that, surely…” 

“Hah.” Caranthir bit at Finrod’s neck again and Finrod arched back into him. 

“ _Carnistir_.”

“Fine, fine.” Caranthir moved his hands from Finrod’s wrists. He worked Finrod’s jeans down just far enough that he could rub against his ass. Then he reached around to take Finrod in hand. 

Finrod let out a breathless, wordless exclamation, and Caranthir moved forward against him in time with his strokes. 

“Wait.” 

With an effort, Caranthir slowed himself and rested his chin on Finrod’s shoulder to whisper, “What?” 

“You don’t have a condom, do you?” 

Caranthir forced himself to think. “No.” 

Finrod leaned his forehead against the cabinet, slowing his breathing, his eyes still closed. “Okay, then that’s out.” 

“But – ”

“I’m trying to be better about that.” 

Caranthir fought to keep his frustration under control. “…Fine.”

Finrod let out a murmur and leaned back, resting his head on Caranthir’s shoulder and reaching one arm up to run fingers through his hair. “There’s lots more we can do. Quickly, though, if you  _don’t_ want us to get walked in on. I mean, I’m not sure I mind, but…” He broke off with a laugh as Caranthir growled and kissed him.

 

They retreated from the cabinet as it gave an ominous creak, and Caranthir, impatient, swept a pile of papers from the desk. 

Finrod groaned. “Those were in alphabetical order.” 

“I’ll fix them for you.” Caranthir pushed Finrod back against the desk, lifting him slightly to settle his weight on top of it. “Later.” 

“All those poor first years’ essays on hard determinism…” 

“Would you rather be on top of them right now?” 

“I don’t know, there’s a rather good pun to be made about just how  _hard_  the determinism in question is…” 

Caranthir prevented any further terrible word play by dropping to his knees before the desk and leaning forward to take Finrod in his mouth. 

“…Oh,  _god_.” Finrod leaned back, hooking his legs over Caranthir’s shoulders, his head falling back as his eyes closed. Late afternoon sun poured in through the room’s single tiny window and caught the gold of Finrod’s hair, blazing bright enough over his skin that his features were almost obscured. 

It was maybe only the second time Caranthir had pleasured Finrod like this, and there was still a flicker of apprehension about the act, a curl of discomfort – how was it that this felt more intimate than even when he was inside Finrod? – and no small amount of doubt when it came to his own abilities. But he closed his eyes, remembering how it felt when Finrod did this to him, and ran his tongue along the underside of Finrod’s cock. When he swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip, tasting the drops of pre-cum that had gathered there, Finrod cried out, one of his hands twisting into Caranthir’s hair. Caranthir felt satisfaction and arousal build in him at this and he licked his lips before moving forward to see how deep he could take Finrod. 

“Oh god, oh god, Carnistir, please…” Finrod begged, his heels digging into Caranthir’s back. 

Caranthir, unable to answer, gave a hum in response, and was amazed to see how Finrod fell back on his elbows, a deep flush rising on his cheeks, panting for breath.

“You’re getting me so  _close_.” 

Caranthir wrapped a hand around himself, quickly realizing that the way Finrod was breathing hard and trying to keep himself from thrusting into Caranthir’s mouth was almost enough to make him come, too. 

As Finrod arched back, Caranthir pulled away and stood up, settling himself between Finrod’s spread legs. He leaned down to kiss Finrod’s open mouth, a wicked twist of pleasure at the idea of Finrod tasting himself on Caranthir’s tongue, and aligned himself so his cock slid against Finrod’s, slick from his mouth. He barely had to wrap a hand around them both to bring them off together; almost at once Finrod was biting down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He just managed to push Finrod’s shirt up in time so that when they came together, they spurted across Finrod’s bare stomach.

 

As Caranthir caught his breath, Finrod’s hands wound lightly into his hair. Overcome by a sudden, slightly disturbing feeling of tenderness, Caranthir kissed him again, gently. The warmth of the sun, and the soft sounds Finrod made as he was kissed were almost enough to make Caranthir want to stay there, holding Finrod against his chest, savoring the feeling of sated desire flickering through his veins. 

Finrod laughed softly and pushed at his chest. “Let me clean myself up.” 

Somewhat reluctantly, Caranthir released him and stepped back, tugging his jeans up and buttoning his fly. Finrod grabbed some Kleenex from the desk to clean himself, then slipped down from his perch to grab his own jeans, which were lying tangled on the floor. He wriggled them on over his hips and looked thoughtful. 

“I completely forgot where I left off in our lesson on anarcho-primitivism.”

“You have the weirdest idea of dirty talk,” muttered Caranthir, and bent down to attempt to scrape the pile of papers they’d displaced into some semblance of order. 

“It seemed to work for you,” said Finrod, teasingly, and took the papers from Caranthir’s hands. “Don’t bother with those, I’ll deal with them.” 

“Sorry.” Caranthir felt some embarrassment as he looked around at the little office, now even more disordered than before, and Finrod, who looked unmistakably debauched. “Uh. So. Can I help with – cleaning, or – ” How was it he had so much confidence when it came to sex with Finrod, but felt instantly clumsy and ill at ease when it came to basic conversation?

“Don’t worry about it.” Finrod set the essays down and reached up to kiss Caranthir once more, very gently. “The mess is a fine price to pay for what preceded it.” 

Caranthir put his hands on Finrod’s hips and kissed him back, letting Finrod’s lips settle the crackling uncertainty of his thoughts. 

He jumped when someone banged on the door. 

“Felagund! The printer’s doing that thing again…The prof wants you to come work your magic on it.” 

“Coming,” called Finrod, pulling back from Caranthir, his hands still resting on Caranthir’s shoulders. “Just finishing up a tutoring session.” He winked at Caranthir, who blushed and stooped to retrieve his backpack. “A very effective one, at that,” he said quietly, as Caranthir pulled his backpack on, “You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” 

“I had a good teacher,” said Caranthir, and ducked his head as Finrod smiled, brilliant and beautiful. 


End file.
